#dcu angst

that he’d ordered something off the menu thinking it was a black coffee but really it was an americano with two pumps of syrup, grimacing disgusted when he drank it. or that he softened when he saw you laugh and point to the menu, telling him, no one ever really bought that drink. or how his eyes crinkled when you made him a new drink and how he thanked you generously when you told him he didn’t have to pay. he wasn’t used to this, being on the receiving end of the tenderness.

no one found out that jason would come to your shop often then, bringing his cheeky humour and his roughened edges that you’d dulled. you’d take your breaks around the same time everyday and he’d be sure to be there, and sit with you by the patio to talk about the future he knew was uncertain.

his hands would linger near yours but never close enough to really touch.

just warmth radiating fondly.

the two of you walked home together, only when you casually mentioned you lived close by. he frowned and shook his head at you like you were innocently naive.

“gotham is dangerous and she is evil, but she’ll love you if you protect yourself, y’know?” he watches you blink at him before he shoots you a smile. “i’ll be back to walk you. wait for me.”

and he did walk you home everyday for the following few weeks.

jason was hesitant on touching you, always needing some reassurance to do so but when he finally took the courage and kissed you, it felt like sparks flew. his palms were clenched tight while he leaned you backwards, just enough for your back to arch. then you guided his trembling hands to your hips, reassuring with your gentle touch and they found their way around.

he put one of his hands on the small of your back while he changed his tempo, lips curving around yours as he held you closer. desperately, he pressed himself to you, keeping you there like you’d run. god, you wouldn’t dream of running.

but that was it.

you kissed once and it was insanely good. he’d groan into your mouth and touch your hair like he needed more. swallowing the sound down, it sounded like music to your ears when he did it. you’d feel the weight of him, unmistakable against your body, warm and heavy.

then he disappeared again for a few days.

but by the eighth week, he came by your house when you were off, lounging on your couch. giant t-shirt draping over your body as you ate takeout from the box. he opened the window and let himself in, crawling inside like it was hard to do.

you ran to him, of course you did. grabbing his arm more roughly than intended, you draped it over your shoulder and lugged the man to his feet. pulling him with immense difficulty to the couch and dropping him there to run wordlessly and grab the first aid kit before panicking when you returned.

“i—fuck, what happened? who did this?” rasping as you sat on your knees to clean the cuts on his face. “are you hurt anywhere else? should i take you to the hospital?”

he grabs your wrist when you reach for your phone and brings it to your chest. “no,” it’s almost a breathless gasp. “please don’t.”

you nod slowly as you start to pull up his shirt and cut through the fabric. not entirely sure what to do but trying nonetheless to help the regular you’d been silently crushing on for the last month. cleaning up the slash on his abdomen and watching his face contort when you put ointment and a bandage. you watch as he slowly drifts and falls asleep, lips parting blissfully. then his hands reach out for you when you stand with his eyes still closed, he whispers your name in a sigh.

“thank you ma.”

you let him sleep off whatever the hell it was and wash the blood from your hands despite the shakiness it presented. you shower silently and replay the evening over in your mind. nearly forgetting that this man passed out in your couch had gotten into your apartment though you’d never brought him up with you. before, he’d only walked you to the building.

how did he know which one was yours?

part of you was terrified of him but the other part was worried. you check on him repeatedly on the night but when you see his breathing has evened out, you head back to your room after dealing a blanket over him. you fall asleep unwillingly with your bedroom door locked and a desk in front of it.

when you wake in the morning, he’s gone with all traces of himself with it.

jason doesn’t come by for days later though you don’t stop looking for him. the stain you swore was on your couch is cleaned and the seat he took in the shop was cold. he hadn’t gotten his bitter drink from you in a while and despite his sudden, horrifying appearance at your place, you miss him.

you look for him even though a part of your brain was nagging you to stop. you ask your coworkers, and even your manager for camera access, they all say no. people say they don’t even remember him, and you start to feel crazy.

did you imagine him?

but when you go to the library by your place to study, you see him hunched over a copy of animal farm and oversized hoodie engulfing him. not even a minute goes by before he sees you too. though to your surprise, he comes up to you.

“hey,” his voice the same strong yet unsure tone that you grew to love.

“hey,” continuing to flip brought your page and sparing him a short glance. “haven’t seen you in a while.”

he sighs and sets his book down at your desk, pulling a chair out to sit next to you. “i’m sorry. i haven’t come by i just didn’t know how to apologize.”

you blink at him, “apologize for what? scaring me shitless and then disappearing without letting me know you were okay? fuck you dude.”

“wait,” grasping his long fingers around your wrist when you try to get up to leave. “i didn’t know where else to go. just let me explain. please?”

his eyes shone with a gentle sheen of wetness that showed his sincerity. the nagging disappeared as you listened to him and nodded, letting him lead you to the corner of the library.

only then does he tell you about his family. about the way the life has treated him like a punching bag and how the man that he thought was protecting him wasn’t willing to take all of the risks. he told you about how he wanted to fix this place for good. how all of the bad people seem to keep winning and that he didn’t want to be part of that anymore. he started to see how his anger was always warranted, and how the world had turned their back on him. the love that fostered over these last few weeks only bloomed further.

noticing how his eyes flicker across your face or how he watched, you take a drag of a cigarette when you stood outside. the both of you had become accustomed to one another, and the familiarity of his gaze didn’t burn, but it warmed you up. It was no surprise when he finally let his eyes fall to your lips, trying not to give in to what he wanted from you so bad.

though he was taken aback when you took the initiative and pressed his hovering hands to yours. then you kissed him and it felt like church bells rang in his mind as he lost all resemblance of himself. jason walked you back to the brick wall and pressed you there, hand caressing your cheek as you moaned softly into his mouth. he swallowed it down and shivered when you bit his lip.

his strong arms lifted you up and deepened the kiss, slowly grinding his hips back into yours when you shifted against him. breathlessly, you feel yourself surrender to him, just like you knew you would. the moment gets more heated as you drop your fingers to wiggle at his belt, letting the metal clink and fall open when he reluctantly pulls back. breath warm and heady as he gasps for air and rubs your cheek with his free hand, watching you blink confused at him.

“no,” breathlessly gasping. “i can’t do this to you.”

furrowing your brows at the implication of his words, you shake your head. “do what?”

“this,” he says quickly before gently moving you off of him so he could move away. “touching you.”

entirely confused by his sudden change you only take a couple steps backwards too. hand coming up to touch your lips like it could hold his memory there. jason seems to notice and moves in a little closer.

“i have done a lot of bad things in my life. i’ve hurt people because i was angry and i’ve lost control more times than i could remember.” he rasps. “i don’t want to do that to you. i can’t do that to you.”

you can’t help but scoff. “i’m a grown woman jason and you’re the one who broke into my apartment bleeding and ran away before we could discuss it.”

“and i shouldn’t have done that.” he sighs. “i shouldn’t have involved you.”

this time you press on. the tension between you unbearable as you yearn for the touch of his skin. “maybe i want to be involved.”

an incredulous laugh escapes him as he shakes his head. “you are not involved.”

crossing your arms over your chest in defiance, “i think a guy showing up in the middle of the night, bleeding all over my living room makes me involved.”

“it doesn’t. trust me, you don’t want any part of this life. you’re just gonna get hurt.” he argues back.

squinting your eyes at him, you sigh. “let me worry about myself.”

“i can’t.”

“that’s not really my problem now is it?”

jason takes a moment to look you from eye to eye. “listen to me. you are not apart of this.”

“and you listen to me jason.” you reply quickly wanting him to understand without realizing how both your voices had risen. “you made me a part of this the day you walked into the shop.”

“yeah and i regret that!” the words escape him before he can think about how it could hurt.

your lips part and your brows had a soft furrow in them. a breathless gasp slips in shock. “you don’t mean that.”

“i do mean that.” doubling down on his words. “it was idiotic of me to involve you and i shouldn’t have brought some civilian girl into this so let’s just forget it ever happened.”

trying not to show how your heart crumbled, you take a couple backward steps. you watch as his face contorts and returns back to its original form.

“i thought...” you trail off when he finishes it for you.

“you thought i was the boyfriend type?” he throws back more harshly than he needed to. “that i’d be all loving and mushy? that’s not me and that’ll never be me so just drop it.”

he didn’t take the words back. he didn’t try to stop you from believing what he said was true. he wanted you to believe it and part of you did even if most of you was screaming that he was trying to protect you. deep down you knew this was his coping mechanism. this was how he saved you both even if it meant sacrificing himself.

but mostly, a deep rooted sense of distain took for him. this was cowardice. this was a kind of protection that you never asked for and it was all his fault. he was the one to involve you in this in the first place and now he was blaming you for trying. now part of you was blaming yourself for letting yourself believe that this could’ve been something.

a soft sigh escaped you as you slowly nod your head at him. “right.”

turning around and walking back towards where your things sat. You collect your belongings and leave without another word letting him ponder on his own if that’s what he was even really doing. You decide then and there you won’t look for him, but this was not something that you needed to weigh heavy on your mind. So many other responsibilities had already taken form in your life and here he was making it harder for the both of you.

the following weeks you find yourself, looking for traces of him in mundane things. orders of black coffees with no milk and no sugar you find yourself thinking of him. leather jackets and cargo pants seem to bring you to his attire.

you accidentally cut your hand cooking dinner on the third month and the blood droplets seem to capture you. Why did they take you back to him? Why couldn’t he have just been a normal guy?

You try to throw yourself back into the thick of everything else. Your friends invite you out for parties, for birthdays, and you don’t skip any of them. You go out for lunch you take them to dinner and inevitably you go to a bar. You tell yourself that this is gonna pass and that you just need to find someone to take your mind off of the guy, the mysterious one, who broke your heart without ever really knowing him.

That’s when you meet him—Dick Grayson.

A little older than you but a youthful glow to him contrasting his dark luscious hair and beautiful piercing eyes. He was the life of the party. He is everything that you needed to pull you out of the slump. There’s something faintly reminds you of someone else you pushed that feeling and that thought down and instead you let him buy you a drink. And then another. And then another. When he goes in for a kiss, you pull back and you’re not even sure why.

this gorgeous guy was trying to get with you and here you were thinking of some idiot who left you high and dry at a public library.

when you go to work a coffee bar at some fancy gala, there Dick is again.

only this time he’s lost that sleazy unbuttoned shirt that he was wearing at the bar and it’s been replaced by a sleek neatly tucked in suit. one that looked like it costs double what your rent is for the month. you tell yourself you’re not being a look at him you’re not even gonna give him satisfaction or yourself the heartbreak even if that wasn’t even a sure thing.

But he’s the one to approach you and all you really wanted was a distraction.

“well hello gorgeous. i didn’t think i’d see you so soon.”

you blink up at him, hand still holding a half made drink as you awkwardly smile. somehow dick finds entire thing endearing and he gets you out from behind the table, pulling your apron off and leaving the banquet entirely. charming as ever, it doesn’t take much for him to convince you to follow along and fall into his advances.

slowly, he makes his way into your life too. but the difference is dick pulls you into his, bringing you gifts and lavish things that you’d never really cared for. he invited you to parties that aren’t your scene and he introduces you to his friends. when he kisses you, it’s hunger and delight. it’s on your way back to his apartment, when the both of you had a little too much to drink.

his hands reach yours while you walk and he brings you closer by your waist. fingers lingering by your hip when he says your name quietly. when you turn to look at him, he presses his lips to yours, soft and plump. it’s teeth and lips when he pushes you against the door, desperate hands trailing down your waistband when he tries to feel your underwear through the silky dress. you gasp his name into his mouth and press your hand to his chest. a small whisper of a not yet, that he nods and takes like it was no big deal.

yet here you were, yearning for something more difficult. something more devastating that you felt guilty for taking this moment for granted. there’s no explicit label on the two of you, but the message is clear to everyone around you and him alike.

you’re his girl.

months go by like this, where nothing progressed beyond sitting in his lap, kissing him hard and apologizing when he wanted more. but dick was patient and he was understanding and he waited.

now you’re sat at another one of the many galas you’d attended in the last year and dick is busy chatting away a group of stupidly rich people. conversing with them like he’s meant to and slyly receiving touches and remarks about his looks that should’ve made you angry or jealous. but you never were. his personality was flirty as is and you didn’t care that other people appreciated how attractive he was. if anything it was like a compliment.

coddling a fruity drink in his hand and another to gesture wildly, dick laughed all evening and secured a couple of deals for his fathers company. the company he’d never truly elaborate on so you wouldn’t know why he was away at odd times in the night. or why he sometimes got phone calls mid-date and needed to leave for a while before texting you that he’s sorry he can’t make it.

somehow, none of it really mattered. part of you knew that dick grayson wasn’t yours.

by the time you get to the manor with dick, he’s wasted and bubbly enough to be looser. though it amplifies his flirty personality and he spends the limo ride home kissing down your neck, leaving marks that you definitely didn’t want to stay. you tilt your head for and hum his name.

“gray, you’re gonna leave a mark.” fake protesting even as your eyes roll in pleasure.

“i want to leave plenty.” groaning against your neck as the car stops by the house.

he reaches over and pulls the window down to hide from the rear view mirror, bringing you up onto his lap. the plush of your ass is kneaded as he shifts your hips against him, dragging and gasping at the sensation. minutes go by like this, friction burning between you as his dark hair sticks to his forehead from how much he was working himself up.

“can we?” he rasps, not needing to say the whole thing before you already understand.

you pull away to look at him and see the desperation etched on his face. part of you wants to give him what he wants, to finally give in to that temptation but the rest of you says to wait for some reason you couldn’t understand. here was this gorgeous man, sculpted like a greek god with his perfect teeth and his chiseled jaw. he was beautiful and everything anyone could ever want, but you couldn’t just say yes.

“you’re drunk,” you state, pulling yourself off of him and opening the door. “let’s go inside and sleep this off.”

he groans like it hurts when you pull him out by his hands. “hasn’t anyone ever told you how much it hurts when you don’t take care of it?”

you hum and bring his face closer to yours as you walk to the door. hand settled low on his back as he holds himself up with an arm around your shoulders.

“nice try dickie. you can help yourself when you take a cold shower.” kissing his cheek as you shut the door behind you.

coherent enough to hold himself upright, he huffs softly and then smiles. leaning over to kiss your lips again, pecking like he was soothing himself before nodding and pulling off his shoes. from across the corridor you could hear a faint sound coming from a television. low enough to be mistaken for sounds of the house.

dick guides you further into the house by your waist and settles his hand by your hip when you reach the living room. along the way you leave you purse on the counter, phone tucked inside it as you start to see the black haired man sitting on the couch, facing the television.

“took you long enough dick head.” the familiar voice echoes with barely concealed annoyance. “you were supposed to help cass tonight.”

dick sighs as he walks himself to the kitchen to grab a beer. “i told her i had to go to bruce’s thing. she’s way grown enough to patrol on her own. probably more capable than you.”

“yeah? well duke had to go and—” cutting himself off as he stands and turns his body to where you stood.

his eyes widening as he sees you there, standing in a pretty dress and a softly dishevelled appearance, as though perfectly imperfect. jason’s lips part at the sight of you, and you take in the look on his face as one of disbelief. something in his appearance had shifted in the months you hadn’t seen him. something about his face had gotten more mature and intense. like he’s seen a couple things more than from when you last saw him and he looked more tired.

exhausted really.

“—you shouldn’t be out doing that shit right now anyways. bruce told you to lay low after what happened last time.” dick says as he takes a swig of his beer.

when he noticed how you and jason were looking at eachother, he looks between you. quickly you break the eye contact, but jason doesn’t. his gaze remained steady.

“oh jason, this is my girlfriend.” dick says your name. “this is my brother, jason.”

girlfriend.

you nearly grimace at the name he calls you but somehow keep it inside. mentally you’re cursing yourself for not meeting his family before this happened. had you known that they were related you would’ve never even spoken to them. you would’ve never thought to talk to Dick in the first place.

now you’re stuck in this awkward position where you have to tell the guy you’ve been seeing casually for the past couple of months that; hey, I used to have a huge crush on your brother and I actually made out with him and also sometimes I imagine his face on yours.

well, maybe not the whole thing.

he probably doesn’t need to know all of the details.

your mind is going a million miles a minute and you can’t even think about what you’re supposed to do next. do you shake his hand? or maybe you’re supposed to stand frozen like you have been for the past 30 seconds and hope it’s all just a dream.

but then jason raises his hand, and offers it out to you like it’s the easiest thing. he smiles softly and you find yourself—

“hey, i’m jason.”

somehow this option didn’t even occur to you and it was the one that burned the most.

you hesitate before you offer your hand as well and let him take yours, shaking it soft yet familiar. almost intimate if anyone was looking too hard, and thankfully, dick was inebriated enough just to not notice that part.

“hey,” you offer back and repeat your name, trying to forget how bitter it tasted on your tongue right now.

he holds your hand for a moment longer than necessary, and you find yourself looking into his eyes like you didn’t know him completely already.

“he’s gonna be staying here for a while since his apartment has roaches and shit.” dick pats jason’s back and still doesn’t notice how he couldn’t pry his eyes off of you. “his rooms across from mine.”

his grip tightens ever so slightly when you try to pull it away.

“guess we’ll be seeing a lot of eachother.” jason says with a gaze so intense, it could light a thousand fires in your soul.

this was going to be a long, long summer.

you came into jason’s life unexpectedly; like a wildfire, you set aflame the barren soil and bark from which he was constituted of 

upon the first spark; he found himself content to burn, to be your kindling 

the initial contact between the two of you hurt

it hurt to be wanted, it hurt to be seen, it hurt to be heard 

because once you heard him, once he heard you 

your voice had unintentionally became the sound of the speaker in his mind

in talking to himself, he found himself talking to you 

he found himself preferring to talk to you 

preferring to abandon his solitude to bask in your company 

his initial instinct was to extinguish this 

but instead 

he chose to let you consume him

until the pain numbed 

until his nerves became used to it

used to you 

now, watching you make hot chocolate in your shared kitchen, his heart can’t help but constrict in his chest at the notion that he may even regard it as shared in the first place 

he walks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his face into the crook of your neck, he inhales your scent 

“smells good.” he compliments, voice gravelly with its usual nighttime grogginess

you chuckle, “it does! it’ll smell even better once i mix these marshmallows in.” 

“wasn’t talking about the cocoa..but..that smells nice too.” 

he smiles against your skin, pressing a soft, feather light kiss to your pulse point

you feel warmth radiate from the furnace in your stomach and you haven’t even had the first sip of your beverage yet 

“why thank you..” you respond with a weightless giggle

your giggle

your laugh

it comes so easy to you 

just as it comes so easy to him to commit each sound you make to memory 

he lifts his face, just enough to press another kiss to your cheek this time

he gently loosens his grip around your waist, stepping back marginally before turning you around 

you allow yourself to be spun 

to be turned to face him 

you allow yourself to face him and he allows himself to let you 

his hand is rough yet charged with something unmistakably gentle as he cups the side of your face, his thumb brushing over the apple of your cheek 

you lean into his touch 

“ever since you came into my life, nothing tastes the same anymore.” 

he smiles, the expression contorted from a place of quiet acceptance 

“not even cocoa?” you quip, though your voice matches his tranquil energy; your subconscious aware of the bubble surrounding you both in this moment 

he chuckles, “not even cocoa. nothing sweet sits on my tastebuds the way it did before, no sugar could ever give me the same energy that you do.” 

your smile widens, the furnace inside you stoked by his romantic admission 

jason presses a kiss to your forehead, his eyes fluttering shut as he does so; the press of his lips lingers before he breaks away to murmur against your skin 

“just like sugar, you made me crash..crash into something i haven’t been brave enough to have in a real long time,”

you look up at him, silently inquiring for clarification 

his gaze, serene and filled with affection, meets yours before answering

“hope.” 

the word leaves his lips like a vow - its a word that’s utterance reveals his state of mind; strips him bare; confirms that you have stripped him bare 

for jason todds arid environment is no longer; the wildfire you set having led to a complete deforestation 

the trees that once stood tall, have dropped their acorns 

acorns that are reactive only to fire; for fire induces them to release their seeds 

seeds that lead to replanting

seeds that lead to regrowing 

seeds that lead to rebirth 

seeds that you helped plant 

seeds that’s thirst will be quenched not with water contaminated by doubt, but water enriched with minerals key in sustaining life 

a new life

one made possible because of you 

in upending his entire existence, you’ve consequently awarded jason todd the comfortability to dream 

═══════════════════════════════

Location: Tricorner Yard Docks, South Gotham

The rain refused to let up. A simple recon mission had gone sideways per usual. Nothing Jason couldn’t handle. Artemis seemed irritated with him now, as if it were somehow his fault they were in this situation. It was. He knew she would yell at him about being too impulsive and trigger happy, even if they were rubber bullets. Now, they sat behind heavy crates waiting for backup.

“Backup's on the way, but Jason-“ Barbara was interrupted by the sound of Nightwing’s bike revving through the streets and alleyways. Rapid-fire gunshots echoed. The black bike came to a halt as a masked figure behind Dick reloaded to continue their assaults: two guns, one in each hand. 

Artemis scoffed in disgust, mumbling something about live ammo for a recon was a bit dramatic and reckless. Jason’s own ammo had been confiscated before they left. He watched as the person cleared the area, Dick not far behind. While his adopted brother beat the non-injured criminals and arrested them for interrogation, the armed assailant drew closer. Artemis grabbed him as he tried to step out from behind the crates. It was too late; the gunman had spotted them. Gun raised, pointed straight at Jason’s head, they finished off the remaining; never breaking eye contact.

Thunder pounded the sky above them, sending the rain down harder. This person acted as if they knew him, given their guarded body language. The gun was in his face, never wavering. Artemis moved instinctually to protect Jason, axe raised in adherance to her strict moral code.

“Was the entrance really necessary, Nyx?” She hissed. Nyx? Jason had heard the name in passing before, no just from Artemis but also in hushed conversations from Dick and Bruce behind closed doors, even from Cass, Barbara, and the other Robins, regarding missions and patrol shifts. Pretty much everyone had never gotten to see who the infamous menace was. Nyx had become one of the most notorious antiheroes in Gotham in the past three years. Apparently, Artemis and the antihero didn’t get along well, differences in morals, she said. What were those morals? She just told him to drop it when asked. The two had a long-standing feud dating back to the time Nyx stepped onto the scene. 

“Fuck off, Artemis, I’m not here for your shit today.” That voice, Jason’s head tilted in canine fashion. He knew that voice. “So, you’re really back?” 

The question ricocheted around in Jason’s head like a pinball. You had gotten taller from the time you were fifteen, not by a whole lot, but still a difference from now to the last time he saw you. You finger twitched on the trigger, not of fear or anger, from a pull you hadn't felt in years. Here, as the world shrank around you, his heart-beat a foot from your face.

“Wow! What’s going on?” Dick spoke your name lightly as he tried to lower your arm. “We talked about this. Can’t have you shooting my little brother. Kinda attached to him, ya know?” He did his best to de-escalate the situation with his humor. After being given explicit permission from Bruce, Dick risked his life to tell you the entire story. By risking his life, you did beat him with his own batons for a good ten minutes. You understood he meant well, only following the orders he’d been given. That didn’t mean it hurt any less. 

After a pregnant pause, you lowered your gun. A sigh of relief came from Dick as he smiled, stepping back to give you and Jason space. 

Crack! 

Artemis was on you instantly, pinning you to the ground—axe kissing your throat. Jason felt around his helmet, a fresh jagged crack etched in the middle where your fist made contact. Dick pinched the bridge of his nose, before pulling Artemis off you. Once on your feet again, you pulled your own mask off—staring daggers at the man known as Red Hood. If looks could kill, Jason would be back in his grave. He stared back in a mix of confusion and awe. The small cut from the axe leaked blood down your black compression top. 

You really had just hit him, and rightfully so. Dick dragged you away by your shoulders, shouting something to the other two about cleaning up and returning to headquarters for a report. Jason called your name only to be told to fuck off as you returned your weapons to the thigh holsters on your pants. You refused to look back as you covered your face again, holding tight to Dick’s waist as he sped off in the storm. 

Jason just stared, unable to move. His brother and his ex, if he could even call you an ex, had arrived and left together. His brother and you were partners paired together by Bruce himself. His day couldn’t get any worse. Or so he thought. 

“Jason!” Artemis’ voice pulled him out of the trance-like state. “Clean-up is on the way, let’s go.” He could tell there was more she wanted to say. The tension between them made his stomach whirl; he could puke any minute as if you were the one who came back from the dead and not him. “We’ll talk about this later.” 

Suddenly, the Lazarus Pit didn’t seem so bad. 

Jason didn’t spend much time at Wayne Manor except on the occasion he was called to the Batcave for patrol routes, missions, or, in this case, to give a report. Damian’s laughter echoed through the room, only to be cut off by a sharp smack to the back of his head. 

“What the f-“

“Language, Dami,” Barbara lightly scolded him. Jason saw what had brought his younger brother to hysterics as he entered the comm room. On the screens was a CCTV replay of you punching Red Hood’s mask, courtesy of Tim and Babs. 

Cass did her best to hide her giggles behind a gloved hand. “Babs, it’s funny, leave him alone.” On the floor beside her, Steph was in tears, clutching her stomach with silent laughter. 

Jason took a seat around the table, arm crossed, staring into the void. The CCTV footage paused as Bruce walked in. “Let’s get this over with.” His voice echoed in the silence that seemed to arrive wherever he did. 

Tim sat across from Jason; it would only be the eight of them tonight. Jason gave a full report on what had occurred at the docks earlier that evening. All up until the part where you arrived. 

Damian couldn’t contain his laughter as Bruce scolded the youngest of his sons. Though Tim and the others had gotten a good chuckle out of watching him get hit, the others seemed to understand the situation fully. Damian was too young to know what happened. 

Barbara switched the screens to show live CCTV of Duke on his patrol. After checking in, he offered to pick up some snacks on the way back. Then Nightwing and you filled the screen. Sitting on the edge of the building, your legs dangled in the silence. Dick seemed not to have heard Barbara patch in over the comm systems, something they all knew wasn't out of character for him on patrol.

“I’m really sorry,” Dick’s voice was sincere in its softness. “I know being under direct orders to stay quiet won’t make it better.” 

“Hey, Richard,” You spoke too calmly. He shuddered at the sound of his name instead of the nickname. “Shut up before I push you over the edge of this building.” The atmosphere shifted in the comms room as if they were all sitting on that rooftop. 

“Let’s not do that, you already beat me with my batons earlier. I think that’s enough.” Dick laughed awkwardly as you continued to stare into nothing. 

“Is it?” You asked. “How long?”

“About as long as Damian’s been alive, give or take.” Jason watched his older brother swallow hard. He had never seen him this …. Scared. Batman’s contingency plan was scared, and of you no less. 

You forced out a noise that choked between a sigh and a laugh. You stared straight up at the stars, tears welling in your eyes under the mask. “I finish my time and training, and then he joins as soon as I leave.” 

A lump caught in your throat. Dicks’ face softened as he watched you. You were up high enough that removing your mask posed no risk. Dick attempted to comfort you with his own breakup. 

“Breakup?” You spoke incredulously. That expression, the way you looked at Dick with that face. The way Dick seemed to understand where he fucked up. Beside Jason, a sharp hiss came from Cass, followed by an “oof” from Tim. “You cheated on Kori and got left; that’s a breakup. I didn’t get dumped at fifteen, Richard. My Jas—boyfriend was violently tortured and murdered, he was taken from me!” 

Jason felt his throat closing in, too consumed in the scene playing out on the screen to notice how intrigued even Damian had become. Then your words hit like a bullet. “I spent years grieving him, crying to you about him, only to find out an hour ago that YOU knew this entire time, but that he also never came to look for me. Is that selfish?” Dick just listened as he sat next to you, for once in his life, unsure of what to do. “Maybe it is, but I bathed myself in blood for a man I wasn’t even worth a phone call to.” 

Oh god, how Jason felt like shit watching Dick pull you into his embrace. As if it wasn’t excruciating enough to see you sob over him to his brother, you hammered the final nail into the coffin. “Seeing him with someone else really feels like losing him all over again.” 

“Damn, you really fucked up.” Damian hissed as Barbara scolded him again, another light smack to the back of his head.

“Barbara, cut the feed. Now. Please.” Bruce pinched his nose. The others took the tension as a hint to leave. Jason wondered if his avoidance was guilt or pity, somehow pity felt worse. “Listen- “

“To what?” Jason snapped back. He had never been more confused by his own emotions in his life. “What more could you possibly say?” He spat through gritted teeth.

Bruce used a small black remote to pull your file up on the screen. Basic information on age, weight, height, eye color, etc. all listed on the screen. Jason scanned the information until he reached affiliations. “She’s on a contracted lease to us by the League of Assassins. She has been for the past three years.” 

That explained why Jason had never been able to find footage of you. A trained assassin from the age of sixteen, who moved like a ghost across borders and state lines. 

“If she’s been here that long, why haven’t I seen her?” The screen went black; it would’ve sent them into complete darkness if it weren’t for several overhead lights still being on. He’d caught a glimpse of a tab on your file that said Recruitment— scratched through, erased.

“It took some work, Dick and I-“ 

“And Tim.” Jason felt the betrayal, rage, and the longing for the time he missed. 

“We worked to ensure that your paths never crossed. I also thought you would not be returning to Wayne Manor or the team. That was a failure on my part.” The antihero would never admit to how those words stung. “Missions and patrols tonight happened to be the inevitable fluke. Her contract was signed before you returned.” 

Jason’s fist came down hard on the table. It’s Bruce’s fault. It’s Grayson’s fault. They all knew! It was all their fault. It was his fault. He didn’t look for you; he woke up consumed with finding Bruce and the Joker. He had completely forgotten about you. 

“So, your moral compass on the no-kill policies changed. What made that change, Bruce?” The older man understood exactly what Jason was trying to get at. Jason watched the man’s jaw clench, and his fist tighten. 

“You may assume whatever you want about me. Do not tarnish her integrity like that; she has been through enough.” Jason’s heart dropped in disbelief. His adopted father was not only defending someone but also your methods. The same methods that he’d been ostracized for. That only confirmed what he wrongfully assumed. 

Jason returned to his apartment over one of the safe houses that night. After an explosive episode that increased Damian’s eavesdropping vocabulary, several unfortunate small-time criminals were turned into punching bags. 

He may have been hopeless when it came to dating; flirting and touches flew right over his head. But that didn’t mean he was dumb; where he was in a sea of confusion in one area, he excelled in another. First was the most obvious: Bruce keeps the no-kill policy while contracting an assassin. The second was you stating that you bathed yourself in blood for him. Third, was how carefully curated and strategic your roles had been managed. Lastly, the way your recruitment tab had been scratched through as if your history was meant to be forgotten. It all screamed to him that something more was happening behind a door he was forbidden to open. As if you, Dick, and Bruce were all in on some secret about him and he was the odd one out.

His memories before his resurrection were foggy, almost completely nonexistent outside his torture and death. The general recollection of dating you, your existence, and a few images of your first were there, but it was only surface information. He was so frustrated at himself for not being able to remember—for failing to recall memories of the life taken from him.

Now, he stood staring at the shower floor as something wet and warm built pressure in his eyes. Your sobs replayed like a record that refused to skip. He imagined he looked a lot like you right now. 

Location: Wayne Manor. 16 hours later.

Music and chatter filled the air of Wayne Manor. Another benefit gala for whatever cause Bruce puts his attention on. Normally, this type of event would have been mildly beneath you, but tonight you were no longer on the Waynes’ payroll. Tonight, you were on the league schedule. 

The long strapless gown fitted your curves perfectly, its deep red color competing with the wine in your glass. Your heels were tall and slightly uncomfortable, but nothing you couldn’t handle. On your arm, one of Gotham’s most prominent politicians. You truly were a honey trap to die for. He was rich and handsome, sure, but God knows you were demanding extra financial compensation and a three-month vacation. He could not have been more boring. 

You’d been a honey trap for approximately a year. Your only responsibility was to be arm candy while keeping tabs and gathering information on him and his dealings. An easy yet boring task. You were just grateful he was still young enough not to need Viagra. 

Small talk came easily as wives and other members of Gotham’s powerful and wealthy approached the two of you. It seemed the diamond pendant around your neck caught everyone’s attention. Your hair pulled into a curly updo gave a full view of the anniversary gift displayed on your throat and collar bones. The matching tennis bracelet on your wrist had your hand held for the evening since you arrived. 

At a corner table across the room, you caught a glimpse of Tim and Dick laughing with Duke as Jason pouted in his chair. His expression changed to one you didn’t quite understand as Duke and Tim laughed harder, throwing glances in your direction. You picked up on it quickly; they were laughing at your situation. Dick made his way over to greet you and your partner. Nothing about how he ever looked surprised you when people stared at him. Best Ass in Gotham, allegedly. It was even more prominent in his tux. 

“It’s great to see you, glad you could make it.” Dick shook your partner’s hand, firm and confident, before turning his attention to you. “Look at you,” he said, taking your hand, spinning you in a circle as if to show you off more. “Stunning as always.” 

Though a part of you still felt anger towards him, you were still grateful in that moment to see a friendly face. At the table behind him, you could see a small flash of hurt cross Jason’s face as he watched you with his brother. Tim and Duke are dying at their own jokes. 

“Actually, my younger brother is home for school. He’s a big fan of your work. Would you mind if I introduced you?” Dick always had a way to charm all around him. He glanced between you and the politician. You’d nearly forgotten your cover as an award-winning journalist. You quirked an eyebrow as if to say ‘Really?’ 

Your date’s laughter underwhelmed your ears as he jokingly asked if Dick was trying to steal you for himself. "I won't be long, promise." You left a lipstick stain on his cheek before allowing Dick to lead you away. 

Jason was fuming, unsure as to why, as you kissed that man’s cheek—images flashed in his mind, laughter, and the sensation of a hand in his. The memory played through his eyes as if he were a third party watching a film in the theaters. It felt so foreign to him, the way you looked at him back then. He pulled back to reality at the sound of Dick clearing his throat. Jason moved fast enough to nearly trip over himself, pulling out a chair near him for you to sit—graciously, with a forced smile that your eyes could not hide, you declined. Dick sat beside you, arm around the back of your chair, looking over his shoulder to see your date mingling with some heiress. Not that you'd be upset, as a matter of fact, you glanced over to have a chuckle with Dick. 

Jason watched in his perplexity. Envy nipped at him as anxiety swallowed him whole. The way you giggled enough for it to almost reach your eyes when his brother whispered something in your ear. How do you catch the attention of a waiter so easily just to receive an entire bottle of champagne instead of the flutes? An elbow nudged his side. Duke asked him something. 

"Isn't that your girlfriend over there?" 

Jason, entranced by you like a moth to funeral pyres, answered with an airy yes. Duke's hands landed on each side of the other man's head, turning him to the direction of the ballroom entrance. Artemis had arrived, stunning in blue that made her resemble a goddess. The words came from your lips first.

"She's stunning." Compliment or not, there was longing in the way you spoke. Jason forced his legs to move, up and across the room towards his date. For a moment, he thought he saw a flash of hurt across your face. He blinked, and you were smiling and laughing at the table at something Tim had said. To everyone's surprise, you and Artemis remained cordial towards each other, even if it was tense. You even handed her a champagne glass. 

Your date had seemingly been convinced to dance with the heiress from earlier. Duke, Tim, and Dick are poking fun at you as if they were children. You almost snorted, the alcohol flushing your cheeks, at the banter. Even Artemis laughed, and Jason suddenly felt as though he were left out of an inside joke once again. Why would you have been laughing at that? Why are you all laughing at that? 

"There's a bee around your hive!" Dick joked lightly. You sipped your glass, playfully rolling your eyes at your best friend. 

Out of nowhere, Steph popped up at the table. "Someone call the exterminator!" She plopped down next to Duke in her black gown. 

"I'll call Damian." You managed to get the napkin to your mouth before spitting up your drink. Tim stood looking around with his phone to his ear as if he was serious. Tears came from your eyes, and Jason's eyes lingered too long. A feeling he couldn't describe made his stomach turn to cement. The ache of recognition and forgotten loss was eating him alive; the itching desire to return to someplace you no longer fit, and he couldn't navigate. If you would just open that door, even a crack. 

Suddenly, you moved to stand, and Jason followed. All eyes were on him before he made some pathetic excuse about the bathroom. You watched him fumbling as he rushed off, Dick tried lightening the mood—Jason can't handle his alcohol, he'll be fine. 

You found your date, politely cutting into his dance with the nameless heiress. You kept your poise as you took her place in his arms. He smiled lovingly at you, speaking softly about the donation he obtained and how tomorrow you should both celebrate. His promises were aimlessly orbiting you as your sutured soul ached for another—a soul your body recognized, remembered in ways your mind refused to acknowledge, one you would've given everything to bring back, now the same one you wished had stayed dead.

Jason's eyes followed, half-sunk in the entryway shadows, as you danced. He downed another glass of wine, trying to ignore the gravity of your existence, and the way every fiber remembered what his mind could not.

The TV illuminates the room, your eyes unseeing at the moving pictures on the screen. You shuffle deeper into the armchair you’re curled up in, Ralph Lauren blanket thrown over your legs, oversized hood pulled over your head. 

You had watched the sun sink through the windows, a plethora of orange, red and yellow coloring the sky. You do your best not to think about Bruce and his wedding. 

It’s a new way of thinking about him — not thinking about him.

The laugh track plays on the television and you laugh robotically with it. You’ve left your phone in the dresser drawer, refusing to even go near it. You don’t think you’re strong enough to fish it out and go through the messages yet. 

You’re thinking about just getting a new phone and number altogether.

You almost don’t notice the polite knocking at your door —- almost. 

knock knock. 

It’s so faint, you don’t even register it as real, convincing yourself that it came from the TV. 

knock knock.

Your finger presses on the remote, pausing the show. It comes again, slightly more insistent this time, and just a little louder too.

You glance at the clock beside you before making your way to the door, one eye pressed against the peephole before stumbling backwards, tripping over a stray heel you forgot to put back in the shoe closet. 

Saliva pools in your mouth, stomach churning. Nononononononono, this couldn’t be happening. 

There’s knocking again, the sound mixing in with your heavy breathing. 

“[Y/N].” 

You’ve missed this voice for months, missed the way it said your name, holding the syllables safe on his tongue, but all it does now is make you heave, eyes squeezed shut.

“I know you’re there.” No, no, no, I’m not here, I’m not here.

“Please.” His voice softens, low and careful. If you hadn’t known him at all, hadn’t spent the past several years memorizing the way he said your name like a prayer, the touch of his hands, the smell of his cologne, you wouldn’t have heard the slightest crack in his voice — but you do. “Open the door.”

You hesitantly place your hand on the cold wood, slowly leaning your forehead against it. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

There’s no answer on the other side for a moment. You’re not sure if you’re relieved. 

“I understand.” Bruce’s voice sounds closer now. Was he leaning his head on your door too? “But please, just let me see you.”

Your fingers tremble on your doorknob, hands clammy against the metal. “I can’t– I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Just for a moment, that’s all. If you tell me to leave after, I’ll do as you ask.”

The silence stretches, thick and heavy. Your fingers grip on the doorknob but you can’t feel the metal against your fingers. You can’t feel anything at all. 

There’s the faintest shift outside the door, and then you can feel it. His presence presses against the door, a tangible weight. You can’t see him, but you can feel him.

“I know.” His words hang heavily between the two of you, “I know what you’re feeling. I shouldn’t be here - I know. I’m not here to hurt you, I just wanted to see you.” He falters for a moment. Not because he doesn’t have the words, but because this is him—not Batman, not the billionaire, just Bruce.

He shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t open the door. He shouldn’t have left you for another. You shouldn’t have even stayed in Gotham. There’s a lot of ‘shouldn’t’ between the both of you, actions and words binding you two together, no matter how far the distance. 

“[Y/N],” Bruce whispers, “I have to see you.”

You know better than to let him in.

(You miss him more than you care to admit)

“Please.” His voice comes out broken, cracking. Your fingers slip from the doorknob, leaving a sweaty handprint behind. You really shouldn’t let him in. For a wild second, you think about walking away like he did with you. You think about keeping the door locked, pretending like you never heard him and hide underneath your blanket until he’s gone again. 

Silence stretches, long enough to wonder if he’s gone. You don’t move a muscle, waiting. Then there’s a dull thump, the sound of his forehead pressing against the door.

That’s all it takes. You twist the knob before you can stop yourself. 

The door swings open, Bruce stumbling forward slightly when his balance is lost. You refuse to meet his gaze, staring down at his shoes. “You shouldn’t be here.” you say again, fingers clenched tight on the doorknob.  

“[Y/N].”

You wish he wouldn’t say your name that way, like it was sacred, like it was all he had ever loved, like you were still his. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” you repeat yourself stupidly, “I shouldn’t have opened the door.” You step away as though distance could save yourself from the pain, turning around to walk further into your house.

It’s not a bad sign he hasn’t been turned away. Bruce looks around the house with slight relief as he follows you inside. The door closes with a definitive ‘click’. It hasn’t changed much since the last time he was here -–-when he broke up with you, but he pushes that thought away. 

You still have random books and magazines piled on the glass coffee table, a vase of flowers pushed to the side. A tube of hand lotion from La Mer sits on the piano in the corner of the room, next to a little Miffy plushie keychain a friend had brought home for you from their trip to Hawaii. 

Everything looks to be in place, not a piece of decor out of hand – and yet…. 

He freezes, the walls suddenly closing in on him, cold and unfamiliar. 

You used to have a photo of the Gotham skyline framed on the piano, a silly little doodle he did on a napkin at a cafe you had brought him to. It’s gone now, the frame flipped face down haphazardly, like you couldn’t bear to see it anymore. 

The bottle of scotch left on the bar cart just for him, the one you used to pour into a crystal tumbler and press a little kiss onto his cheek as you handed it to him… vanished. 

The photo of you together, the one with the diamond ring on your finger, the memory he had cherished — erased. You had told him it was the happiest moment of your life, breathless laughter spilling out of you as you kissed and kissed him in between words.

“Then I’ll make our marriage even happier.” He had meant every word he said then. He didn’t know how quickly things could change. His fingers trace over the empty air of where it used to be framed. The wall looks too bare without it. The entire house looks like something was missing, any and every trace of him gone. Each vacant space was a muted accusation of what he had done, what he chose to leave behind.

He steps back carefully, his chest tight. He was a stranger in this house now, an unwanted guest.

You stop in front of your chair, leaning a hip against the armrests. A hand falls from where it’s crossed tight across your chest, fingers skimming the fabric. The TV continues to play an old sitcom you had once raved about to him. “Bruce,” his name feels foreign on your tongue. It’s been too long since you last said it. You don’t turn around, grounding yourself with the touch of velvet underneath your fingertips. “What are you doing here?”

“You have a wife now.” The words make your gut wrench. It sounds all wrong coming from you. You were supposed to be his wife. You didn’t want to hear the title referred to another person instead. Your tongue is clumsy in your mouth, throat choked up, but you force the words out. “You left me for her.”

His fingers flex by his side.

“Go home to your wife.” The words taste like ash.

Bruce tilts his head, pained. “Seems no one told you.”

“Told me what?"

Bruce blinks once, then twice. He takes a careful step forward, testing the boundaries. You don’t move from the armchair. “I… don’t have a wife.”

What? The words make your head snap up, twisting around hurriedly, confusion meeting his earnest, blue ones. What the fuck was he talking about?

He smiles when you finally meet his gaze, just a twitch of the lips. His brows furrow when he takes in what you’re wearing - the oversized hoodie, soft and familiar, drooping over your shoulders like it once did when you’d curl up together. “...That’s my hoodie.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you huff, quickly changing the subject. You refuse to meet his gaze again.

“Shut the fuck up.” you fume, crossing your arms over your chest. “What do you mean you ‘don’t have a wife’? You broke our engagement to be with her.”

A moment of silence. The unanswered question makes you nervous, biting your cheek until it bruises.

“She left me.” Bruce’s jaw tightens.

All the air is stolen out of your lungs. You can’t speak, can’t even breathe. Bruce’s gaze doesn’t waver, but you can hear the hurt underneath his words. “The day of the wedding.” His voice is low and heavy. “She said she couldn’t do it.”

“Our lives were too different.”

The fight leaves your body, shoulders sagging. “Oh.” You dig your fingernails into your arm, crescent moon indents marring your skin. “I’m sorry.” That's all you can manage, voice trembling. You know what it’s like to be left. The silence that follows is unbearable. For the first time, you realize Bruce looks as wrecked as you feel.

Bruce looks at you, long and heavy, the weight of his stare seemingly trying to swallow you whole. “Thank you.”

You tear your gaze from him, tightening your arm around yourself. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“I don’t know.” He’s lying. You both know that. 

You huff, rolling your eyes and turn your face away. “Well, you better go find out quick.”

Bruce doesn’t respond, but you know he’s listening, waiting. He shifts his weight closer, waiting for you to stop him, a silent question in his eyes. You still don’t move, chest tightening. 

“You really shouldn’t be here.” You repeat yourself, but your heat beats faster at the closing distance. A whiff of his cologne brushes past you, the smell of bergamot, rose, and amber enveloping you in a warm haze. For a moment, you can’t remember why you’re fighting so hard to keep him out.

And then you smell it – the slightest hint of jasmine and iris underneath it all. It makes you sick, nausea rolling over you in strong waves. It’s not your perfume. It’s hers. A sickening reminder that he had moved on, that he had left.

You stiffen, muscles locking. “What are you trying to accomplish here? Do you think I’d just… I’d just fall for you all over again? That you could waltz into my life after everything you’ve done and all would be forgiven?”

Tears blur your vision. Bruce’s face looks pained, his fingers clenching by his side. “No, of course not.” He smiles mournfully, just a slight uptick of the corner of his lips, “I know you better than that.”

“It’s what I loved- no, love about you.” His hand reaches out, fingers twitching as though to gently face you towards him, but he lets it fall back down to his side again. 

You whip your head around, breathing heavily. “Don’t you dare say that to me.” You step forward, jabbing your finger into his chest. Your white manicured nail presses itself into his sweater, shoving as hard as you can. He doesn’t even move an inch. Your chest heaves, voice breaking. “You broke my heart! How dare you- how dare you…” 

You shudder, a sob ripping through you, harsh and sudden. “You were the love of my life.” The truth, the words you had refused to admit aloud to anyone were finally out, hanging tight around your neck like a noose. 

Bruce swallows hard. His hand reaches up once more, cupping your cheek hesitantly before growing firmer when you don’t push away. You inhale shakily, leaning into his touch despite knowing better. 

“[Y/N],” his voice drops to a whisper, low and rough, carrying the weight of all his regret. It’s barely heard over the blood rushing in your ears, the breaths that rack your chest inside and out. “My… My love.” 

The nickname makes you choke, gasping for air. It hits you harder than expected. 

You hadn’t heard him call you that since… god knows how long. He used to - always, in private, in quiet moments where no one else could hear, in moments when his words were meant for you only, and always. And then he stopped, when his heart had drifted, when he’d allowed himself to care for someone else. 

It hurts to breathe, skin numb to everything but the feeling of his thumb rubbing across your cheek. The nickname makes you sob loudly, tears burning as they carve out a trail on your already heated skin. 

“I have always been yours.” He bends slowly, carefully, allowing his forehead to rest against yours.

You shake your head, fingers clumsily grabbing on to his wrist, tight, tight, tight, like you couldn’t bear to let go – and he wouldn’t have let you. “No, no,” the words are sticky in your mouth, “You left me, you left me for someone else, you-”

“You said you loved her instead.” Your chest heaves with grief, shuddering sobs that make it hard to breathe.

“I know,” Bruce’s hold doesn’t waver, his other hand reaching to cradle your face. “I was wrong.” His touch is strong and steady, keeping you grounded even as your head spins and knees shake. He shakes his head, “I was a fool.”

“Yeah,” you blubber, a hand curling into a fist and lightly smacking it on his chest. You hit his chest again, your fist trembling against his sternum. He doesn’t flinch away, leaning into your touch. His chest absorbs each weak blow like a man welcoming his punishment, like he deserved to be hurt worse. “You’re a goddamn fool.”

“Mhm,” he soothes you quietly, a hand releasing your face to push your hair back, “I was stupid to have let it happen.”  

“Yes,” you echo, voice breaking on the edge of a sob. “You’re really fucking stupid.” But your fist doesn’t rise again. Instead, it lies flat on his chest, his steady heartbeat pulsing underneath your fingertips. It stays pressed against him, caught between pushing him away and holding him close again. 

You hate him for touching you. You hate yourself more for wanting it, your skin, your bones, your very existence of being, refusing to pull away.

“You don’t even-” You hiccup, body jolting. Bruce settles a heavy hand against the small of your back, gently pulling you forward until your hips touch his. Just to keep you steady, he used to tell you and you’d wiggle your eyebrows and wink, a coy smile on your face. There’s no lightness between the two of you now. 

“You don’t even know what you did to me. You ruined me.” you sob, words tumbling out. “Everywhere I went, you were there. In my bed, in the mirror, in the clothes I couldn’t bear to wear because you loved me in them.”

Bruce says nothing, shoulders squaring as he lets you crush him with your grief and anger. His blue eyes trace over the curve of your cheek, taking in the way your eyelashes flutter and the part of your lips. 

“I couldn’t even breathe without you and you were out there, loving someone else.” You inhale shakily, lungs struggling to fill with air, forehead pressing to his chest despite yourself. 

The silence that settles over the both of you is thick, heavy with unspoken words but comforting nonetheless. You sigh, eyes fluttering shut. 

“I hate you.” You whisper, the words loud in the silence. 

“I don’t blame you.”

“I wish you didn’t leave me.”

“I wish I could take it back.” Bruce’s hand rubs your back soothingly, his fingers trailing across the back of your neck. 

“I hate that I love you.” you mumble shakily into his chest, pressing yourself closer. “Why are you even here?” You pull away, tears blurring your swollen eyes, “If you’re just… if you’re here because you feel guilty, or because you’re looking for something else from me after being left at the altar…”

Bruce closes his eyes for a long second, searching for the right words. When he opens them again, they’re raw, honest. 

“She left me at the altar,” he says it again, moreso to himself than to anyone. You bite back the sting of envy, resisting the urge to laugh in his face and roll your eyes. He notices, of course he notices. He can see the way you fume, your eyes closing just a little too long and he smiles, soft. He really did love you. “She never showed up. Said that I couldn’t be happy and be Batman.” He swallows, the words caught in his throat. 

“But that wasn’t true. It couldn’t have been true — because I was the happiest I had ever been with you.” 

His voice lowers even more, almost a whisper. “I thought she understood me better… because of what we do at night. I thought by marrying her I could have had both - the happiness, being Batman.”

“I thought you deserved someone who wasn’t… this.” He admits, “I didn’t want to admit that I thought I couldn’t just be both Bruce and Batman with you.” You inhale sharply, shivers running down your spine at his confession. 

You want to scream. You want to slap him. You want to take him by the collar and shake him over and over again. You always knew this. He didn’t have to tear you apart to realize it. Your fury sits on your tongue, warring with the ache in your chest.

“You never made me choose.” Bruce leans forward, lowering himself closer to you. He stares at you like he’s committing you to memory, like you’ll vanish if he blinks. “I came here because it was always you.”

You step back shakily, pushing him away. Your eyes screw shut, and for a moment, you just stand there trying to process before they fly open once more. Your fingers catch on the edge of his sweater. “So what?” You laugh, bitter and wet. Bruce flinches at the sound, his breath catching. “You get left with your vows in your pocket and suddenly I’m good enough again?”

“No. That’s not-”

“Was I not good enough before?” You interrupt him, swiping your eyes harshly with the back of your hand. “I wasn’t enough when you were with her. I wasn’t enough so you abandoned me to chase a dream of happiness with Selina because I couldn’t give it to you, even though I have always, always supported you through everything. I loved every part of you, and that wasn’t enough.” You hiccup, angrily rubbing your face. 

It feels like you punched him. He can barely breathe, too afraid that even the slightest movement would repel you further and further. 

“What makes you think I should forgive you? What even was your purpose today? To ruin me all over again?”

“No,” The words are caught in his throat, “No, never. I could never do that.”

“Well,” you laugh harshly, “You did once. Can’t blame a girl for thinking it’ll happen again.”

He flexes his fingers before relaxing. “I know. I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

“I don’t deserve a second chance either.” His jaw works itself. He takes a step forward, reaching for you again, waiting. He doesn’t know what for. You stare at his outstretched hand but you don’t flinch away. Saliva pools in his mouth, heart hammering against his chest when his fingers sweep across your forearm and you don’t back away. 

“I don’t even deserve your time of day.” His eyes search yours, desperate and unflinching. “But I’m here anyway. Because when everything fell apart, you were the only person I wanted.” You twist your lips, pointedly looking away when tears resurface again.

“My love,” his voice cracks, just slightly. Your heart jumps at the nickname. Something in your heart softens - just a little. His hand moves to cup your cheek, hesitant, trembling slightly. “I’ve failed you in every way that matters, but this… this moment, I need you to know it’s still you. Always you."

You’ve dreamt of this countless times. You’ve dreamt about him day and night, imagining and reimagining your reunion. You’ve dreamt about smacking him until your palms bled. You’ve dreamt about kissing him until you were breathless. You’ve dreamt about running him over with a truck. You’ve dreamt about days where he never broke you. 

But now, now that it was here, you didn’t know how to feel anymore. He stares at you imploringly, coaxing you slow, slow, slowly. The rain hits harder on your window pane, the drizzle turning into a thunderstorm. 

“How can I trust you again?” You resist the urge to lean into his hand, eyes fluttering shut just once to savor the moment before snapping back open. Bruce doesn’t flinch under your gaze. “I don’t know.” He exhales slowly, doing his best to calm down, “I only know I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to deserve it.”

You bite your lip, looking away.

“[Y/N].” 

You’ve missed your name on his lips. 

“Just this once.” 

You’ve missed him more than anything.

A moment passes. Bruce waits in silence, his breathing shallow. You don’t move, barely even blink. Slowly, you tilt your head. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you.” 

He feels like he could conquer the world. He nods understandingly. 

You continue, voice soft. “This doesn’t mean I’m letting you back into my life the same way as before.”

He nods again, eyes softening for a brief moment. “Understood.”

The rain is lightening outside, the heavy wet smacks against your window easing into a soft drizzle. “It just means that I’m a bit of an idiot- but I don’t care.” you admit, letting the words hang in the quiet room.

Bruce shifts closer, just enough to let you feel the warmth of his presence. “Thank you.” He says, voice sincere. You nod, eyes searching his- anxious, a little uncertain, vulnerable. He looks back, hopeful and earnest, promising to do better.  

The soft drizzle taps against the window like a gentle applause, and for the first time in months, you feel the tight knot in your chest ease, if only slightly. You let out a shaky breath, finally letting your cheek rest against his hand fully. Part of you wants to collapse against him and forget everything. Another part still wants to shove him out and scream at him for every moment he abandoned you. You don’t know which part will win.

You lay prone on the bed as he withdrew. The tears brimming on the edge of your lashes became too much. Your brows knit tightly, doing your damndest to keep yourself quiet. You couldn’t afford to show weakness. To give anyone a reason to cast you out to the apocalypse out there. 

But it was too much. 

A heaving sob broke from you, and you curled tight away from him. The very same person you’d run to when you needed the most help. He was your anchor, your light in the dark. And now it is all gone. 

You pulled yourself away from him when you felt his hands circle yours again. A pinched whimper of your begging him to leave you alone tumbled from your chapped lips. 

It was too soft. It was much like the times you held one another before all this, but it was all wrong. He was so cold, and his teeth were too sharp. His ledger was a shade darker in its crimson. 

You cried harder when he pulled you back to him, trapping you to his chest. You weakly hit your fists against his muscled body, your tears falling harder and faster. Your head was still spinning from the blood loss, but now it was hurting from your uncontrollable crying. 

He wasn’t your Jason. Not anymore. His Red Hood persona, meant to bring a bloody comfort of justice, was nothing but a symbol of fear for you. 

He was The General. The Vampire King’s right-hand man. He didn’t have his heart anymore. 

You broke into another whimper when he held you tight to his body, just like he had before when you needed comfort. Naturally, you tucked your face into the crook of his neck. For a small moment, you let yourself be comforted by his giant hands holding yours. 

But it was mechanical. You both were being watched. 

You were always being watched.

You stopped crying long enough for him to feign some comfort. He dried your tears, gave you a small hug, and then left when he tucked you into bed. 

When you heard the bedroom door latch shut, you turned your head and pressed them into the pillows, where you broke again. You shuddered in a small breath before it left you in wracking sobs, muffled by the pillow you clung to like a lifeline. 

You were drowning in your own tears. You began to cry for your mom, softly whimpering that you wanted your mom. If you’d drowned a little more in that tub, maybe you wouldn’t have to be stuck as a piece of flesh in this room. 

You cried for Jason, dreaming that he’d come bursting through the window or the door in his former glory and sweep you away like those princesses in the stories you read together. 

You didn’t realize that you hadn’t heard any receding footsteps. That he was still right outside. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason listened to your crying. Even if his heart wasn’t beating any longer, hearing you in such distress made it ache again. It twisted tightly in his chest when he heard you calling out for your mom. 

“I want my mom…” you hiccuped. “I want my mom…”

He’d hurt you so bad that you was calling for the very woman who killed you. 

Jason nearly walked away, ready to drive a stake deep into Dick’s chest, when he heard his name. 

“Jason… Jason, I need you…”

Jason reached for the door handle again. He wasn’t the Jason you was asking for. His hands were cold and too stiff to hold yours. 

The warmth of your skin when he held you to feed or when he held you tonight, trying to offer comfort, was a taunting reminder that he’d never really feel it again. Every chance he had to hold you, he knew, was just a twisted reenactment of what you both had been. Now, when he touched you, you had fear laced deep within your eyes. 

You’d never looked at him like that before. Not even when he just crawled out of Arkham, his fingers still broken and bleeding and his hands stained in the blood of criminals, back to you. He dug himself from his grave back to you, and you welcomed him with a warm embrace. 

Jason wanted to go back in there to help you stop hurting so badly. He wanted to dry your tears, to hold you until the pain was over. 

He wanted to kiss you. He should have kissed you that night. 

You had clung to him, demanding that he come back okay. You tearfully looked up at him, your hands twisting into his armor as you begged him to come home when it was over, when the Vampire King was vanquished. And he swore he would. No matter how far he’d crawl back on his hands and feet again, he’d crawl home to you. 

Jason wanted to seal that promise with a kiss. His lips would cling to yours to seal the oath and quell your fears, satiating your desires. 

But now his lips touched you when he needed to feed from you. 

He let go of the knob when he heard your staggered breathing eventually even out. You was sleeping fitfully tonight. Just like every night before this. He rested his forehead against the door, silently pleading for your forgiveness when he’d been the one to leave those twisted marks on your body. He squeezed his eyes shut to force back his own grief, though a small amount clung wetly to his lashes. 

Jason didn’t care if the Vampire King was watching him or not. 

He already knew how much you meant to Jason. There was no point in pretending Jason still wasn’t in love with you. He’d use you as a tool to get Jason to prove his worth, to spill the blood of those who opposed him before. The King kept you in that cell for a week before dragging you, weakened, battered, and bruised, out into the light for Jason. 

But there was no rush to hold each other in your arms. He only held you to drink your blood.

But it was right at the time that Jason was starving. He had avoided feeding long enough, but when he finally saw you again for the first time since he came home, twisted from the man he once was.

Jason was near ravenous for nothing but blood. He couldn’t even whisper an apology before sinking his teeth into your skin, hearing your scream. 

Jason no longer needed to sleep, but that scream he had forced out of you would keep him up for eternity. 

The taste of your blood nearly made Jason ascend. You were so sweet like chocolate. Tears ran down your face and Jason knew some of his own tears were stained in your tattered shirt as well.

The King was using you as a way to keep his foot on Jason’s neck. If he wanted you alive, he’d have to obey the King. 

Jason’s hand curled tight into a fist.